


Saving Grace

by NiftyNicky21



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Angels, Gen, Sacrifice, Saving Grace - Freeform, Winchesters - Freeform, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiftyNicky21/pseuds/NiftyNicky21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following canon from Season 8 of Supernatural, Castiel, Sam, and Dean are ambushed while searching for an artifact that could save Sam during the God trials. (No spoilers from the show, this is all my au.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saving Grace

            Castiel knew he was about to die. Blood poured into his eyes from a gash on his forehead, but he could see the gleam of the blade that Naomi had raised above her head. His vessel ached. The ribs were pulverized and he was sure some of the vertebrae were busted as well. His breath drew in ragged and his mouth tasted sickly sweet with the copper of blood. Two demons held him fast by his wings, but the fight had been pummeled from the angel. Sam lay unconscious and bleeding in the corner of the room. Castiel hadn’t seen Dean since he had lead off six demons to buy him and Sam more time. Castiel lowered his head in defeat. The lead they had followed for the artifact to save Sam had been a trap all along. They had been outnumbered and ambushed. He coughed and spat blood onto the concrete warehouse floor.

“No.” Naomi closed the distance between herself and Castiel. She grabbed him by the throat and forced him to look at her. “I want to see the light fade from your eyes. You had your chance to redeem yourself. Now I’m going to crush you.” The grip on his larynx tightened and Castiel coughed blood onto her hand. “Disgusting, hold him.” She drew the blade back into the air and Castiel smiled, ready for the relief that death would finally bring him. A silver flash and shot left Castiel covered in blood. Naomi looked genuinely surprised as she observed the hole through her chest. Castiel grinned. He could see smoke rising from the barrel of Dean’s Colt .45. Castiel took the opportunity of the distraction to smite one demon and rip the head off of the other. As he turned to face Naomi, his heart sank. She stood behind Dean with the angel’s blade at his throat. A trickle of blood crept down the side of Dean’s neck.

“Cass, don’t.” Dean looked frustrated and desperate. “Take Sammy and get out of here.”

“Shut up.” Naomi pulled the knife tighter against Dean’s throat. “Come and save your precious human, Castiel. You are too weak. Your grace is failing you. Now you can only watch.”

“No!” Dean started to cry out, but was interrupted by the blood gurgling from his throat. Castiel’s cry was primal, as he watched Dean collapsed to the floor, clutching his neck. Naomi disappeared, retreating from the chaos. Castiel ran to Dean’s side and pulled him into his arms. The light in his green eyes was fading fast. Castiel moved Dean’s hand and placed his own upon the ugly gash. He closed his eyes and tried to summon up enough grace to heal the wound. A spark lit through his fingers and fizzled out just as fast. He grasped Dean’s throat, trying to keep the man’s life force from leaving his body.

“No. Dean, you can’t.” Tears began to stream down the angel’s face. Dean’s hand clutched at Castiel’s arm then fell to the floor as he drew his final breath. “No! NO!” Castiel pulled Dean’s body to his in a desperate embrace. He placed his forehead against his and let the grief well over him.

“Be still, my son.” The voice was everywhere. Castiel looked up to see he was in a different place. The concrete and metal of the warehouse had been replaced with marble pillars and light. The stink of blood was replaced with an aroma of incense. The voice, sounding like everyone and no one, male and female, spoke again. “Castiel, do not grieve. I can take Dean to where he belongs now.”

“No. You can’t be.” Castiel’s mind reeled. Too many tricks and manipulations had been used for him to trust a voice in his mind. Something burned in the pocket of his coat. Dean’s necklace that he had abandoned so long ago glowed brilliantly.

“I am.” The voice answered the question. “You have nothing to fear, Castiel.”

“I-I’m not worthy.” Castiel fell to the floor, pushing his face against the marble in awe.

“Get up.” The voice rumbled. Castiel rose, but kept his eyes on the ground. “You’ve been a very busy angel, Castiel.” Shame swelled into every molecule of his being. He had killed so many of his brothers and sisters. He had destroyed so many human lives. “You love man, more than you love me.”

“No.” Castiel said almost too quiet to hear.

“Yes.” The voice rumbled the ground and the light darkened. “I have seen you. I know what you will do for your love of man.” Castiel quaked in fear. “No, child, don’t fear me.” The light came back into the room. “You love man, more than you love me and that is how it should have been from the beginning. Vanity and pride made me cast aside my greatest creations. I wanted them to love me, unconditionally. I was wrong. It is us that need to love them. Go back, Castiel. Keep your faith. It has been strong.”

“Wait!” Castiel’s voice shook with fear. “What about Dean?”

“What about him?” The voice replied. “He’s with me, now. We’ll find a spot for him.”

“But, I couldn’t save him.” Castiel’s fists tightened in defiance.

“No. You couldn’t.” Silence enveloped the room.

“Let me save him, please. He deserves to be with his family. He’s fought so hard.”

“You want to put him back on the front line.” The voice sounded incredulous. “Do you really want to put him back into the filth and mire of that world? He will find peace and eternal love here.”

“I don’t think that Sam can handle a world without Dean. They rely on each other.” Castiel said.

“What about you?” The voice inquired. “Can you go on in a world without Dean Winchester?”

“No.” The answer was instantaneous. He hadn’t realized the word had left his mouth until the reply.

“Then you must give me what’s left of your grace, Castiel.”

“But I don’t have any left. I didn’t have enough to save him.” Castiel’s shame increased.

“There’s still grace in you, but I will require all of it to bring him back. You will become human and mortal.” The light in the room dimmed to a softer ambience. “Can you give up all of this for a single human life? I have worked planned for you, Castiel. You are strong.”

“I have to save him.” There was no fear in the angel this time. A quiet strength filled Castiel’s spirit.

“Very well.” The voice faded and Castiel was back in the warehouse, covered in blood again. His hand was still pressed to Dean’s bloody throat, but the wound was gone. A breath rattled up through the man’s lungs. Choking and spitting up blood, Dean leaned forward trying to catch his bearings.

“Cass, what happened?” Dean looked at the carnage around him. “Where’d Naomi go?” He paused, and then looked straight into Castiel’s eyes. “She had a knife to my throat a moment ago. Did you zap me out of there?”

“No.” Castiel rose to his feet, slowly. His body ached, but none of his injuries seemed too dangerous, He walked to where Sam lay still and knelt beside him.

“What do you mean, ‘no’? Did you zap Naomi out of here?” Dean picked himself up slowly, brushing himself off.

“No.” Castiel helped Sam sit up, rousing him and checking for wounds.

“Cass, no more of this cryptic bullshit, what the hell happened?” Dean was looking at all of the blood on the front of his jacket and shirt.

“You died, Dean.” Castiel looked him straight in the eye. “Naomi slit your throat and you bled out onto the floor.” Sam and Dean stared at Castiel.

“So how am I standing here?” Dean’s indignation ate at Castiel’s patience.

“I made a deal with a higher power.”

“What kind of deal?” Both brothers looked concerned. Dean had slung Sam’s arm over his shoulder and was helping him towards the exit.

“I am a human, now.” Castiel spoke the words, softly. He found them difficult to believe and felt as though saying the words made it more concrete.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I’m a human. I’m mortal, like you two. God let me give up the last of my grace to save you.” Castiel took Sam’s other arm and the three of them limped slowly out of the building to the Impala.


	2. Gift from God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, and Cass arrive back at the motel to nurse their wounds. Dean and Sam grill Cass about who he made a deal with for Dean's life

The Impala’s engine grumbled to a halt as Dean parked her in front of the motel room. Castiel’s mind raced in the silence. With the loss of his grace, he was reeling over how quiet this world was. He and Dean helped Sam into the room and onto one of the beds. Dean went back outside for their duffle bags.

“Hey, Cass.” Sam sat up in the bed and pulled his over-shirt off. “Could you go into the bathroom and grab the first-aid kit and a couple of towels?” There was a gash on Sam’s right arm and blood still seeped through his shirt from his abdomen. Castiel thought, for just a moment, that he could just heal his wounds. A wave of disappointment swept over him and he walked into the small, dingy bathroom. He pulled a terry washcloth off a rack and ran it under the tap. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The cut across his forehead oozed blood and a bruise was forming where he had been slapped. Steam began rising out of the tap and Castiel flinched back as the heat scalded his hand. He took the cloth, another towel, and the first-aid kit, and then headed back into the motel room.

“Cass, are you okay?” Sam asked as Dean threw the duffle bags onto the bed. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I didn’t see a ghost.” Castiel handed over the towels and kit. “I just feel…funny.” Castiel felt his knees buckle and he collapsed to the floor. His head cracked against the nightstand and the room went black.

            Dean stared at the sleeping angel, replaying the night’s events in his head. His back and legs ached. The fire of the whiskey did little to numb the pain. Sammy had sewn himself and Cass up and was now on his laptop, probably searching for lore and information. Dean readjusted the ice-pack on his shoulder.

“Do you think he really saw the Big Man, Sammy?” The stitches on the angel’s forehead were making him uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. I thought all of Heaven had given up on that idea.” Sam glanced up at Dean from the computer screen. “It could have been Naomi again.”

“Yeah, but I put a hole through the bitch.” Dean took another swig from the bottle. There was a familiar gnawing ache in his stomach. “Something’s up here. I was dog meat. Whatever Naomi is, I don’t think she would have brought me back after a Colombian necktie.” Dean ran his finger over a small scratch on his throat, the only indicator that she really had killed him.

“Maybe he just zapped you out of there at the last minute.” Sam suggested. He was typing away, furiously.

“No. If he’d had the mojo for that, he would have toasted the demons holding him back.” Dean replied. “He was two seconds away from becoming chopped liver himself.”

“Then I don’t know, Dean.” Sam said with a sigh. “Just let him sleep it off. We’ll find out more when he’s back on his feet.”

“But that’s the thing, Sammy. Have you ever seen Cass sleep? Ever?” A headache was starting to pulse behind Dean’s eye, adding to his growing discomfort.

“Well, no. But there’s a lot we haven’t seen him do.” Sam closed the laptop and dimmed the lamp on the nightstand. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now.” Dean set his Colt on the table beside him.

“I know. Get some shut-eye, Sammy.”

            Dean could hear voices murmuring just beyond the edge of his consciousness. He pushed through the fog of sleep and sat upright in the chair. The whiskey to his left had only about a quarter of the bottle remaining. His gun sat untouched on the table. Sam was up and packing, pulling photos, maps, and articles off the wall. Castiel was digging through one of their bags, looking for clothes.

“Garth says that the information we got was tampered with, somehow. This location was a set-up by Crowley. The Shroud is still out there somewhere.” Sam said, placing some photos of the Shroud of Turin into a folder.

“How could the message be interfered with? Surely, your source was reliable.” Castiel inquired.

“She was.” Dean interjected. “She’s a friend of Garth’s who also happens to be a psychic. She said that’s where the Shroud was supposed to be, so we trusted her.”

“Naomi must have manipulated her.” Castiel pulled a white button-down shirt from the bag.

“Like she used you?” Dean wasn’t going to pull any punches. “What the hell happened last night, Cass?”

“I told you.” Castiel turned to look Dean straight in the eye. “You died. God came to me and made me an offer to bring you back.”

“How do you know it was him?” Sam asked. “How can you be sure it wasn’t Naomi using you again?”

“It wasn’t her.” Castiel’s fists tightened up with anger. “It couldn’t be her.”

“How can you be so certain, Cass?” Dean stood, not breaking Castiel’s gaze. “We don’t know what she can do. You were her freaking puppet and you nearly killed me.” Dean felt his nostrils flare. He wanted a straight answer from the angel before he zapped away to sulk. A look of grief swept over Castiel’s face for a moment, but was replaced with a stubborn, defiant jawline.

“It was Him.” He replied. “You threw away your faith when you needed it the most, Dean. I was saving this for when you were ready.” Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace that Dean had tossed aside years ago. There was a residual glow to the amulet.

“What?” Dean didn’t know how to react. He reached out his hand and touched the warm brass. “Cass, how did you? Where did you get this?”

“I told you. I’ve been saving this for when you needed it.” Castiel placed the amulet in his hand and closed his fingers around it. “Don’t you dare throw it away, again.” Dean felt heavy and sat back down in his chair. The heat of the amulet crept through his hand and up his arm. A wave of guilt rushed over him.

“Cass…” Dean paused, struggling to find the right words. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Castiel picked up the clothes from the bed and headed into the bathroom. As Dean sat, dumbfounded, he could hear the groaning of the pipes as the shower kicked on. His heart raced and he opened his palm, half expecting the necklace to have disappeared. He pulled it over his head and let the weight sit on his chest. He hadn’t realized how naked he had felt without it. His hand tightened around the amulet once more, and then looked Sam square in the eye.

“He’s not lying, Sammy. He saw God.”


	3. Blood on the Gym Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's restless, sick and tired of waiting for a lead to turn up. When Sam comes to him, desperate to get Cass away from his computer, Dean decides to teach Cass to spar.

****

            Dean was getting restless. They had been at home in The Bunker for over a week now. Sammy was getting sicker and trying harder to hide it, which only made Dean angrier about it. Every morning he could hear him coughing louder than a chain-smoking coal miner with tuberculosis. It wasn’t like he couldn’t see the blood-stained tissues in the waste bins or the gaunt, hollow look on his brother’s face. The Shroud of Turin thing was still eating at Dean. How the hell was a two-thousand year old Band-Aid supposed to fix his brother, anyway? Castiel had been hanging around The Bunker, as well, adding to Dean’s unease and restlessness. The damn angel wasn’t acting like his normal, awkward, stuffy self. He had slept for the first two days they had been home and then eaten half the groceries like a ravenous vacuum. Dean was still getting used to seeing the angel with gauze on his forehead. It irked him that he wouldn’t just heal his wounds and zap on out of there. Cass had been trying to help Sammy with his research, but was doing more hindering with his technical inexperience.

“Dean,” Sam came around the corner into the kitchen. “Do you think you could get Cass out of the library for a while? I’m going to strangle him if he calls my computer an assbutt one more time.” Dean chuckled.

“What do you want me to do with him?” Dean walked over to the sink and poured out the last of his drink and rinsed out his glass.

“Just keep him preoccupied.” Sam filled a glass with water and chugged half. “I’m losing my mind in there. I did not sign up for celestial being babysitting.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Dean smirked. “I haven’t gotten to try out the training room, yet.”

“Take it easy on him, Dean.” Sam set his glass on the counter. “I think he’s still shook up since the whole Naomi incident.”

“He’ll be fine.” Dean laughed. “I’ve been itching for a fight. My shoulder’s been getting stiff.” Dean stretched his arm across his chest and made his way to the library.

            Castiel was seething with rage. The computer was mocking him again. He had navigated to a website with useless information, where unreliable sources droned on about secret societies and other nonsense and he couldn’t figure out how to get back to where he started.

“Hey, Cass!” Dean called from the corridor entrance. Castiel pushed the office chair away from the awful contraption and walked up to Dean. It gave him a warm feeling to see that Dean hadn’t taken the amulet off since he had gotten it back. “Do you want to spar? Sam’s taking a break. Castiel grinned as Dean tossed a few light-hearted punches at him.

“Sure.” Castiel was interested in seeing the limits of his vessel, his body. The thought was still foreign to him.

            The training room was part gymnasium and part arsenal. Dean flicked a couple switches and fluorescent lights kicked on revealing racks of dummy weapons. There was a door on the other side of the room labeled “Shooting Gallery” in yellow paint. Dean had started rolling up his sleeves and moved towards a part of the room that had mats on the floor and wall. Castiel took his overcoat off and dropped it on the floor beside the mat. Dean was jabbing at the air, his ferocity growing. Castiel was mesmerized with the way the muscles rippled in his arms and back. Dean pivoted to face him, his brow in a rigid line of focus.

“Come on, Cass.” He jerked his head to the right and gave a brief smirk. Castiel rolled up his sleeves and rushed Dean. Dean sidestepped at the last moment, sending Castiel crashing into the mat on the wall. Disoriented, he turned to face Dean again. This time he approached more slowly, cautiously. Dean threw the first punch, which Castiel avoided, grazing past his ear. Castiel took the advantage to punch just below Dean’s ribs. He’d seen the brothers drop formidable opponents that way. A gasp and swear came from the hunter as he moved back, regrouping. A fierce determination set in Dean’s jawline, causing Castiel to grin.

“What are you smiling about, Happy Feet? You got lucky.” Dean moved fast, faster than Castiel could anticipate. The punches came so quick that all Castiel could do was block the blows with his forearms. “Hit me back, damn it.” Dean demanded through gritted teeth. Castiel tried to jab at his torso, but leaving his stomach unguarded landed a punch on the tender tissue. He winced at the pain and threw himself at Dean, swinging wildly. The fist that connected with his jaw came out of nowhere. Castiel saw flashes of white light before his eyes and dropped to the mat. His heart was pounding and his breathing was labored, but he had never felt more alive. He licked his lips, tasting blood from a small cut. He grinned and stood. Dean’s face was awash with emotions and Castiel’s heart sank. The fist at his side released.

“Cass, why won’t you just heal? I don’t get it. Is this some cry for attention?” Dean’s voice sounded tired.

“I can’t, Dean.” Frustration welled in his chest. Dean still didn’t realize the significance of his sacrifice for him. “I’m as human as you are.” He spat blood onto the mat and wiped his hand across his mouth. Dean’s face paled at the sight. Without another word, he stormed out of the training room, slamming the door behind him. Castiel stood there, his mind racing to find what he had done wrong. His chest felt heavy and his jaw hurt. Picking up his overcoat, he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall. The blood still oozed from his lip, dripping down his chin. He licked his lips, but a droplet fell to gym floor. He made his way to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water, trying to calm his racing mind. Pity came over him. This was the way humans always felt. Strange, ridiculous in their bodies, minds jumping to conclusions and doubting their own abilities, he was struggling to make sense of anything.

“Hey, Cass.” Sam walked into the kitchen, a plate with sandwich crusts in his hand. “I heard Dean leave. What happened?” Castiel pointed to his lip. “Oh.”

“I-I,” Castiel struggled for words; so many emotions were tearing through his mind. “I am human now, Sam. I don’t know how else I can prove it. The world is quiet now. I have doubts and questions that I never had before. I am slow. So slow, Sam, I can’t.” Castiel sighed and hung his head. “Dean has hardly talked to me since we got back. Why? What am I doing wrong?”

“It’s hard to understand, Cass. I mean you’ve always been this powerful entity. I don’t think Dean can accept what you’ve done for him. He’s always the big brother, the hero.” Sam shook his head. Castiel set the glass down and held onto the countertop, his mind trapped somewhere between fear and anger.

“But someone had to save him.” Cass whispered.


End file.
